


Caged Bird

by TheCookieOfDoom



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (mentioned) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - College/University, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Stalking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-23
Updated: 2018-08-23
Packaged: 2019-07-01 10:45:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15772536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheCookieOfDoom/pseuds/TheCookieOfDoom
Summary: “You’re safe here, Stiles.”“That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear you say.” Stiles opened his eyes, looking up at Peter. “It’s not something I ever thought I would believe, either.”“And do you? Believe me, that is?”“Strangely enough, I do.”Peter listened for any hint of a lie, but Stiles’ heartbeat was steadier than it had been all night.





	Caged Bird

**Author's Note:**

> This is for missmaladicta for the fandom cares auction! I'm like a month and a half late, all because I couldn't think of a darn title. this one isn't amaxing, but its good enough!
> 
> this fic is complete for now, but it is going to be part of a much bigger work. I just have no idea when im going to have time to work on it. 
> 
> That said, today is my birthday! (for 7 more minutes anyway) so why don't you make my day and leave me a comment, yeah? anything you might like to see as this continues? any ideas I like could be incorporated into later chapters!

The apartment across the street was nothing like the kind of places Peter frequented. He could smell the cigarette smoke, stale sex, and week-old trash sitting abandoned behind the building from where he sat, and he hadn’t even left his car yet. If he was being honest, he didn't want to; this was the kind of neighborhood where his sleek sports car was liable to be vandalized purely on principle, if not stolen. 

Looking down at the notecard in his hand, Peter checked the address Stiles’ previous landlord had given him. Sure enough, this was the place where Stiles was staying now. Nose wrinkling in disgust, Peter hoped that Stiles had moved on from this place as well. Taking a breath of the last fresh air he was likely to have for a while, he finally got out of his car and went to find out just what became of the human. 

***

“Hey, where is Stiles? He’s going to be late,” Scott said, looking around the gathered students with confusion. His best-friend was nowhere to be seen, and the graduation ceremony was going to officially start soon. He heard Kira’s pulse speed up at the mention of their missing packmate, and he turned to look at her, frowning. She glanced around avoiding eye contact and hoping for Scott to turn his attention elsewhere.

“He’s on a plane,” she finally blurted, cringing when everyone turned to look at her with varying degrees of disbelief. “Going to New York. He got accepted to Columbia. Surprise?”

“No, Stiles is going to Stanford with me, like we planned,” Lydia said, looking half-concerned and half-offended that Stiles wouldn’t have told her he was changing their plan.

“He had the plan! The vision! He wouldn’t just back out on that without telling us.” Scott looked wounded. Kira didn’t know what to say to make him feel better. With Stiles all but abandoning his brother without so much as a warning, she doubted there was anything she could say.

“I know, but… Something changed, I guess. I’m sorry. Stiles wouldn’t tell me what was going on, just that he was leaving, and I couldn’t tell you guys because he didn’t want you trying to stop him.” 

“But why did he tell you?” Scott asked. He should have been the first person Stiles told.

“Um, well. He didn’t, exactly. I kind of overheard him talking to my dad, about leaving? And when he found out I’d been listening - not on purpose! - he looked kind of… I don’t know. Scared, maybe. Like he was really, really afraid I was going to tell you guys, I guess.” Kira bit her lip, looking unsure. “I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, but I promised him I wouldn’t.” 

Scott and Lydia shared a look, likely both thinking the same thing. That they wanted to go track Stiles down and find out what happened to him, because he wouldn’t have just  _ left  _ like that. Not so out of the blue. He would have said something, given them some kind of warning. They were a pack; they weren’t supposed to hide things. Especially not things this big. 

But neither of them could go after him. Scott couldn’t afford it with college looming ahead of him, and he would never dream of asking Lydia for the money. Lydia  _ could  _ go if she wanted, but it would be almost impossible for her to find one lone human in the middle of New York by herself, without Scott’s enhanced senses. Especially since, if Kira was to be believed, Stiles had just left that morning. Stiles wouldn’t have been in the city long enough for Lydia to ask around for him, with any hope of success.

“I’m going to call him until he answers me,” Lydia decided, frowning. She sifted through her contacts until she found his number, Scott and Kira able to hear the ringing as she put the phone on speaker. 

_ “We’re sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service.” _

***

Approaching apartment 31B, Peter wasn’t entirely sure what to expect. It was entirely possible Stiles wasn’t here. It didn’t sound like there was anything on the other side of the door; he couldn’t hear anyone breathing, or any heartbeats. At least, until he knocked on the door. Then he heard both, far too fast to be justified. Then again, in such a shitty neighborhood, he could understand some degree of nervousness. 

Peter waited, listening to the timid, shuffling footsteps coming from inside the apartment as the occupant shuffled closer. Stiles was far from timid - Peter didn’t think he even knew the meaning of the word - but that hummingbird heart was definitely Stiles’, beating a raucous tattoo against his ribcage. 

The door was cracked open, barely enough for a sliver of a familiar brown eye to peer through. Peter was suddenly overwhelmed by the acrid, stale scent of fear permeating the hall, coming from that tiny little space.  _ What the hell is going on?  _

“Hello, Stiles,” Peter said, gentling his voice. He had come with the intent to order Stiles to call his friends and talk to them, so that they knew he was okay and Derek would finally leave him in peace. This poor, pitiful creature looked - smelled rather, since Peter hadn’t actually  _ seen  _ him yet - like he was  _ far  _ from okay. Perhaps the farthest he’s ever been, at least during the brif time Peter had known him.

“May I come in?” There was a hesitation, a sharp inhale, then more shuffling. Stiles snapped the door closed in Peter’s face, and he almost thought he was being told off. Then he heard the rattling of the chain lock, and three distinctly separate deadbolts being flipped. Stiles opened the door again, wide enough for Peter to step through, staying carefully hidden behind the thin barrier the entire time. No one in the hall would be able to see him. As soon as Peter crossed the threshold Stiles was lunging forward, slamming it shut and quickly locking it back up with frantic movements, pale fingers spidering over the many locks.

Peter took not of the three deadbolts in the door, stacked one on top of the other and haphazardly aligned, like Stiles had installed the top two himself. Now what would possess the young man to do such a thing?

More surprising than the locks, though, was Stiles himself. The apartment was dark, all of the windows covered, and the only light coming from a dim lamp in the corner. Stiles carefully avoided it, plastering himself against the wall. He hid himself in the shadows.

Being a creature of the night, Peter’s vision in the dark was almost as good as when it was light. He could plainly see that the young man standing before him, shoulders hunched and arms wrapped around himself -  _ cowering, like prey  _ \- was not the confident teen he had left behind in Beacon Hills. He was less than a shade of his former self, with thin limbs and a hollow face that wasn’t just shadows cast from the low light. His eyes were sunken and dark, too, devoid of the spark they used to have. He kept them downcast, not looking at Peter. Peter thought he looked worse than when the nogitsune had possessed him, wearing his body like a costume and neglecting to care of it. 

“What’re you doing here, Peter,” Stiles mumbled, eyes darting around the shadows of the room, ever searching, never once meeting Peter’s.

“I was asked to come check up on you. Your friends are concerned with your apparent lack of communication.”

“Oh, yeah.  I - uh - I got a new phone. Number. New number and phone. Thought it was time to change things up, y'know? Like moving here. Needed some change." Peter cocked his head thoughtfully, noticing a tick in Stiles' heart. Stiles only briefly glanced up at him, knowing Peter caught him in the curious lie. He tried to divert, instead. “Since when do you live here?"

“You didn’t think to let them know your new number?” Peter challenged, ignoring the weak segue. Stiles cringed away from Peter, drawing into himself even more. Like he was trying to make himself as small as possible, hide from Peter, a cornered animal. Peter didn’t like it. The Stiles he knew would have challenged him without fear. This was foreign, and he felt uncomfortably wrong-footed. “What’s really going on, Stiles? And will you  _ please  _ turn on a damn light?” Stiles jumped at the extra growl in Peter’s voice, hand skittering along the wall as he searched for the light switch. Like he wasn’t accustomed to finding it. 

With the light on, Peter was able to see the more minute details. The way Stiles’ unwashed clothes fit too loose and his hands trembled, flannel sleeves pulled down over pale fingers to hide the tremor. Peter took a deep breath of the apartment’s stale air. It wasn’t as calming as he hoped it would be, making his wolf pace in discontent. Something very concerning was going on.

Wanting to get some air flow into the apartment, because both his wolf and Stiles needed it, Peter crossed the room to the nearest window and unlocked it, Stiles hesitantly following him to see what he was up to. Just as he was pushing it open, Stiles lunged forward, thin fingers wrapping around his arm and frantically trying to pull him away.

“Dont!”

“Tell me what’s going on,” Peter demanded, too much growl in his voice as he turned to face Stiles. He didn’t even realize his eyes were glowing blue until he saw the color reflected in the boys eyes, twin points the only substantial light in the room. It made his pupils contract slightly from how close Stiles was, pressed almost chest to chest. Or maybe that was the fear, his fight/flight/freeze response being activated by Peter’s so clearly predatory presence.

Stiles averted his eyes and skated around Peter, avoiding touching him again as he latched the window and pulled the heavy drapes closed again, blocking out the light from the outside. He retreated back to his corner, crouching down on the floor to hide himself away. Peter didn’t know what to do. “Stiles…”

"There's this guy, okay," Stiles spat, hugging his knees. "He's been following me. He found my old apartment, and I just - I had to leave, okay? He hasn’t found me here yet. At least, I don’t think he has. He hasn’t… usually he leaves me things. He likes me to know he knows where I am.” 

Peter slowly approached, sitting down on the - probably filthy,  _ God  _ \- floor across from Stiles, a few feet separating them. He tried not to think about the stains, or the way it pulled at his pants when he shifted, disgustingly sticky. “Why didn’t you tell anyone?”

Stiles scoffed, but he didn’t answer. He couldn’t, not wanting to see Peter’s judgement in the face of his stupidity.

“When was the last time you left this place?” 

“Uh… what day is it?” 

“Stiles.” He cringed, looking down at his bare feet, playing with the hem of his jeans. 

“I know, okay? But I’m just… I’m  _ afraid _ . They broke into my  _ apartment. _ ” He felt so violated when he’d found the gift waiting for him on his bed. His skin crawled with the thought of some stranger in his bedroom, going through his things. As if they belonged their.

“Who, Stiles?”

Stiles shook his head. He didn’t know. 

Peter watched Stiles closely. Really, his decision had been made as soon as Stiles opened the door stinking of terror.

“Get up, get your things,” Peter said, standing up and waiting for Stiles to do the same. He just looked up at Peter, frowning. But at least he was meeting Peter’s eyes, now. His hands weren’t trembling where he held his knees to his chest.

“What?”

“Get your things. You’re not going to stay here another night.”

“It’s not like I can just leave, I don’t have any-”

“You’re going to come stay with me. No arguments, I’m not giving you a choice in this. Clearly you aren’t taking care of yourself, and Derek isn’t going to get off my back until you are alright, so come on. Get whatever you may need, we’re leaving.”

Worrying his bottom lip, Stiles was slow to finally stand. He eventually made his way to his bedroom - he hadn’t been able to set foot in there in weeks, since he found the gift - and stalled just outside the door. He half expected to find a gift waiting at the foot of his bed like before, elegantly wrapped. 

Peter followed him, standing at his back. For once, the crippling fear that had slowly been building in Stiles began to fade, just a little. It felt safer having Peter at his back, more than any wall. Strangely, he had no doubt that Peter would protect him.

Peter stood in the doorway as Stiles finally walked in, frowning at how sparse the bedroom was. Stiles had a mattress, a single pillow, and blanket, all tucked in the corner of the room. Nothing else. Nothing personal. It only took him a few minutes to pack his clothes and toiletries into a duffel bag. It wasn’t even full. 

“Is that all?” Peter asked after Stiles pulled his shoes on, looking ready to leave. Stiles just nodded mulishly, scuffing at the gummy carpet. Peter pursed his lips. “Well. Let’s go,then” At least Stiles’ few belongings would fit into the back of his very small sports car. 

***

Stiles looked up at Peter’s apartment with something almost like awe, if you ignored the fact that he was mostly hunched down in the seat, only his eyes barely showing above the door. “You live here?”

“Yes. In the penthouse suite, of course,” Peter said, smirking as he pulled up to the valet and parked. He got out and handed the young man his keys, Stiles reluctantly following him. If only because being in the car with an unknown stranger was worse than being with Peter.

_ Better the devil you know…  _

Now that he was out of the apartment he stuck close to Peter’s side. The wolf thought he probably didn’t even realize he was doing it. “Here.” He handed Stiles his backpack, choosing to carry the duffel for him. Stiles looked barely strong enough to stand, let alone carry all of his textbooks - which probably cost more than his rent alone - and his other belongings.

Once they were walking into Peter’s suite, the first thing he did was usher Stiles into the bathroom for a shower that he was dearly in need of. “Use whatever you want,” he said, gesturing to the wide range of products, before leaving Stiles alone. He returned briefly with clothes and towel once he heard the water started, in and out before Stiles noticed him spiriting away the clothes left on the ground in a careless pile.

Peter went to the kitchen, shrugging out of his jacket and draping it over a chair as he thought about what to make for a late dinner. Something quick and easy would probably be best. Rolling up his sleeves, Peter tried to recall if Stiles was picky, but he’d never gotten to know him on that level. All he  _ really  _ knew was that Stiles was eighteen and clever, able to keep up with him in a battle of wits. 

And he was the most loyal human Peter had ever met. 

***

Stiles entered the kitchen half an hour later, wearing a pair of Peter’s softer-than-sin sweatpants, and one of his white v-necks, scowling like it was an artform. “You’re an asshole,” he said in greeting.

“All of your clothes smelled like they hadn’t been washed in weeks. Sit down, dinner is almost ready.” 

Glaring daggers at his back, Stiles slunk over to the big island, watching Peter.

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“Did you expect me to order out all the time like my nephew and your little friends?” 

“I dunno. Maybe more like going out to the kind of restaurants you have to make reservations at, but they have a super long waitlist and only super important people can bypass it.” 

“I’m flattered that you put that much effort into thinking about where I chose to go to dinner, Stiles,” Peter said, smirking over his shoulder. “However, Beacon Hills doesn’t have anything of the sort. It’s too small of a town, and I was forced to learn to fend for myself.” Peter decided not to say that that was exactly the type of thing he did now that he was living in New York, however. 

“Don’t be,” Stiles said, rolling his eyes. “So… what’d ya make?” He tried to get a look at what Peter was doing, unable to see what it was that smelled so good. His mouth was watering. It’s been a long time since he’s had something other than granola bars and the occasional ramen.

“Teriyaki salmon fillets. A good source of protein, vitamin a, and omegas. Something tells me you’re lacking in those.” 

“You don’t have to do all of this. I’m fine…” Stiles trailed off at the cold look Peter gave him, looking down at his hands in his lap instead, avoiding his penetrating stare. 

Peter turned off the stove and placed the fillets onto plates. His expression was challenging when he tuned to Stiles fully, sliding one of the place across the marble bar to him. 

“This is what pack does, isn’t it?” Peter said, silently daring Stiles to disagree with him. To imply Peter wasn’t pack. For a long minute it looked like Stiles would, before he finally nodded. 

“Thank you,” Stiles said when Peter went to the fridge for drinks.

***

After dinner, Peter got Stiles set up for bed in the living room. He didn’t have a guest room, having repurposed it into a grand library, but the couch was comfortable enough that he often fell asleep on it while lazing around the apartment. It was only 8pm, but Stiles looked like he hadn’t slept in weeks. He barely gave a token protest when Peter called it an evening. Probably because he was still feeling so overwhelmed with Peter suddenly coming in and uprooting his life, after having not spoken to him in almost two years. 

It was almost midnight when Peter heard the first scream. He ran out into the living room claws out and eyes blazing blue, searching for any sign of an intruder. It didn’t take him long to realize what was really happening, that the only intruder was unpleasant thoughts. He stowed his claws and bent down over Stiles, shaking him awake when the teen cried out in his sleep. He had to hold Stiles down by his thin arms when he tried to lash out, not knowing where he was as he woke up. 

He looked haunted when he finally came to in Peter’s arms, hands fisted against his bare chest. 

“I’m sorry,” Stiles gasped, face damp with cold sweat. “I’m sorry, I-I didn’t mean to wake you up.”

“It’s fine, I was reading.” 

“Yeah? What were you reading?” Peter, recognizing the desperate attempt for distraction, indulged him. He carefully lifted Stiles until he could sit beside him.

“The Lesser Bohemians. It’s by a new author, published last year I believe. I’ve had it sitting on myself for months.” Peter adjusted his hold on Stiles until he was able to gently rub his back, soothing his tremors. “It is about an 18-year-old Irish drama student who becomes involved with a 39-year-old professional actor. They start an affair that’s meant to stay casual; but it’s a romance novel, so of course it doesn't.” Stiles laughed weakly, laying his head on Peter’s shoulder. His warm breath ghosted over Peter’s neck. 

“I didn’t think you’d be the type to read romance novels. Is it good?”

“Very. So far, at least; I’m only a few chapters in.”

Stiles nodded. Peter felt the brush of his soft lashes against his shoulder as Stiles closed his eyes, making a conscious effort to take slow, deep breaths. He was trying to match them to Peter’s, the wolf realized. It took several long minutes, but he finally managed, both his pulse and breaths slowed down to a normal rate.

“Hey, Peter?”

“Yes?”

“No one can get in, right?”

“Of course. You need a special key for the elevator to get to this level, and another to get through the front door.” He brushed Stiles’ damp hair back from his face, unsure what to think about the intimacy of the gesture. “You’re safe here, Stiles.” 

“That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear you say.” Stiles opened his eyes, looking up at Peter. There was a vulnerability in his eyes that made Peter's usually silver tongue turn to lead in his mouth, clumsy and inelegant. Like Stiles was close to shattering if he said the wrong thing. Peter would cut himself trying to pick up the pieces. “It’s not something I ever thought I would believe, either.” 

“And do you? Believe me, that is?”

“Strangely enough, I do.”

Peter listened for any hint of a lie, but Stiles’ heartbeat was steadier than it had been all night. 


End file.
